Bait and Tackle
by Squidgal
Summary: A tale of two miscreant Predators out doing their thing and their encounter with the root of all evil, frazzled hitmen, mystery meat, and opera. Have fun!
1. Bait and Tackle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Predator franchise. Any resemblance to oomans and yautja, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**

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**Bait and Tackle**

The freakishly hot day eased into an all too uncomfortable humid night. Shadows shifted beneath the city lights and people went about their business, sweating and giving each other short-tempered answers to mundane questions. In such discomfort, nobody ever bothers to look up or down, left or right. Out of sight, out of mind and in this heat it was better to be out of sight and in an air-conditioned room. People could care even less if monsters from outer space arrived on Maple Street, moved in next-door, and consumed the family cat, dog, parakeet, and ferret. For the majority of humanity that night, ignorance was truly bliss.

Upon the tallest building in downtown, a wavering figure of fractured light and shadows crouched and peered over the edge of the roof.

"Hey, check this out," whispered the Blooded yautja on the roof. "I don't know what it is, but it's really creeping me out. It's fascinating though."

"Anything involving oomans always fascinates and creeps you out!" replied another yautja who sat admiring the human skull he acquired the night before. His invisible form shifted within a dark alcove as he turned slightly. "Remember that time in the tropics a while back? We were out on a jolly hunt and we came across that ooman tribe hunting other oomans and taking their heads. You were so _fascinated_ and so _creeped_ out by the whole hunt you wanted to join in the fun."

"We sure crashed that particular headhunter's ball, eh?" said Ny'rath as he turned his gaze briefly, away from whatever it was that demanded his attention in the first place. "By the way, those oomans didn't creep me out, they gave me the heebie-jeebies! No matter how many of their hunters we took down, they still kept trying to catch us. I had the feeling they were not going to stop until they had our heads. They also wanted to eat us too!"

"I distinctly remember saving your life that night. Oh wait, let me make a correction, my _scalp_ distinctly remembers saving your life," grumbled Ghiz as he shook his long dreadlocks and returned the skull to his mesh bag. "When one yautja is about to fall off a cliff with a pair of oomans clinging to him, he does not grab the nearest yautja's locks as a safety measure. I found myself on the ground with you and those oomans dangling from my locks. I even fought off a charging ooman while on my back!"

"Do you always have to bring that up? I still have the oomans' teeth marks running down my arm. Darn things tried to take a bite out of me while we were hanging around," replied Ny'rath.

"Tell that to my scalp," snapped Ghiz.

Exasperated, Ny'rath just shook his head and returned to his reconnaissance. "Hey! There they go again and this time they have a lookout."

Ghiz crept to where Ny'rath crouched and looked over the edge. He could see a trio of oomans at the foot of the structure across from their perch. While one ooman stood a bit further away looking around, the other two were busy with a machine fitted into the wall of the structure. They stayed briefly and after taking something from the machine, the ooman pair rejoined the third and walked off.

"That thing in the wall of the building seems to be dispensing something the oomans need. Do you think it's some kind of food?" asked Ny'rath.

"No, it doesn't look like a food dispenser or beverage dispenser. Shall we take a closer look?" Ghiz clattered behind his mask.

"Sure, why not, we're done for tonight."

The two cloaked hunters made their way down from ledge to ledge and waited across the street in a dark alley until there were no more oomans lurking too close to their objective or any sign of their mechanical vehicles passing through. When the area was clear, they stepped forward and inspected the thing in the wall. Ghiz looked at a keypad closely. There was something familiar about the symbols.

"Does this remind you of something?"

"They're numerical symbols, like on our wrist computers!" answered Ny'rath.

"You may be right. Do you think it dispenses weapons of some sort?" Ghiz looked up suddenly when he heard a shuffling noise heading towards them. _Cjit_! They had been so preoccupied with the machine they did not notice the ooman male.

The male approached quickly and as the two cloaked yautjas stepped aside and into the shadows, they noticed the ooman carried something small and rectangular in his hand. He seemed hesitant and in one instance stared in Ny'rath's direction, but it was brief and there was no indication that he saw the cloaked hunter. Continuing with his task, the male gazed furtively around before inserting the thing he held into a slot. After punching a series of numbers on the keypad, the ooman tapped his fingers on the shelf impatiently, and then he pressed the keypad again.

Ghiz and Ny'rath held their breaths and remained deathly still as they watched the actions of the ooman male closely and recorded the sequence of numbers he had tapped on the keypad. A strange whirring noise echoed from the machine and greenish rectangular leaves emerged from another slot while a mechanical voice blurted something in ooman. The male took the leaves and walked away without a backward glance. If he had glanced back, he would have seen two hazy forms emerge from the shadows.

"The ooman forgot something," murmured Ghiz as he reached forward and picked up the rectangular card the ooman unknowingly left behind.

"Why don't you use it? I'd like to take a closer look at the stuff that comes out," asked Ny'rath.

Ghiz inserted the card and pressed the numbers he recorded earlier. The machine whirred and out came the rectangular leaves accompanied by the mechanical voice.

"Do it again," said Ny'rath as he took up the leaves and inspected them. Each had an ugly ooman face and numerical symbols imprinted upon them. "They're definitely not organic. I wonder if they use them for the waste pits," he mused.

Ghiz turned to Ny'rath with a large handful of the greenish leaves and said, "The machine has stopped giving. What should we do with all of these?" He let a few of the bills flutter to the ground.

"Let's get back to our base and think about it. I feel a little too exposed out here and look, here comes another ooman," warned Ny'rath. The two yautja hurried across the street and into the alley with a few bills trickling behind them. They failed to notice the ooman stop and pick up the fallen leaves Ghiz left behind.

Meanwhile, the new bank security guard operating the video cameras rubbed his eyes in disbelief and turned to his partner seated next to him.

"I just saw a bunch of money float away in the air."

"Figures, first night on the job and you're already hallucinating! What the hell are you smoking and where can I get some?"

"Do you hear that?" growled Ghiz. The pitter-patter of ooman feet echoed behind them and the two hunters turned as one to confront the ooman that dared to follow them. They were surprised to see an ooman female crouching and picking up the fallen rectangular leaves.

"We'd better hide in the shadows until she's gone. She looks like she needs the leaves for the waste pit," hissed Ny'rath as he started to climb up a fire escape.

"Wait, I have an idea." Ghiz took one of the leaves and stuck one end of the thin razor wires he was carrying through the leaf and bent the end a little to form a small hook. He tied the other end of the wire to the retractable spear he carried. "Watch this! I saw this during a workshop on hunting techniques of various life forms." The yautja swung his spear forward, casting the razor wire into the air with the end carrying the leaf landing not too far from the ooman.

Doris rushed forward and tried to grab the hundred-dollar bill, but it kept eluding her grasp. Whenever she came near enough for her fingers to brush against the crisp paper, it would slip away impossibly fast. She was about to give up when she heard a rapid clicking sound coming from the darkest corner of the alley. It did not sound very good, that clicking sound. In fact, it sounded like the creature from the black lagoon's death rattle or gurgle, or whatever sound she imagined such a creature would make on its demise.

Doris gazed deeper into the alley to where the shadows were the most impenetrable. Goosebumps erupted all over her arms and she started to back away. Out of nowhere, the bill flew at her face causing her to trip and fall, scattering the other bills she had gathered all over the ground. Doris was already on a short fuse due to the heat, but having Benjamin Franklin's face swooping towards her out of the darkness and frightening her even more pushed her over the brink.

"This is fine, just fine you freaks! You practical joking bastards can have the rest!" yelled Doris as she walked to the alley's entrance. As she was exiting, an opportunistic mugger attracted by her cries caught up with her.

"Give me all your mon—mffgh!" he managed to say just as Doris's knee connected with his groin.

With the practiced ease of one who has had her fair share of self-defense classes, Doris threw her would-be attacker into the alley, but not before giving him one more shot to the groin. Furious at how her night was going and ready to beat up anybody who got in her way, Doris stalked away.

"Females are all the same when they get angry," stated Ghiz.

"I couldn't agree with you more," winced Ny'rath. "What about the male? He's still writhing and moaning on the ground."

"He got what he deserved. It was foolish of him to attack an unarmed female, especially an angry unarmed female," growled Ghiz. The yautja knew very well never to get in the way of an angry female.

Just then, three other yautjas joined Ghiz and Ny'rath. They were returning from their own hunts that same night.

"Kla'a'tu, Ba'ra'da, Ni'ik'tu, how are you guys doing tonight?" asked Ny'rath.

"Not bad, not bad, we got skulls to prove it! We're heading back to the ship. Care to join us?" said Kla'a'tu. "By the way, did you two have anything to do with the angry ooman female we saw on our way here?"

"Why don't you ask that ooman?" said Ghiz as he pointed at the squirming male on the alley floor. "But first let me show you this technique I learned at this workshop."

"Oh gods, here we go again!" clicked Ny'rath.

Fish the hapless mugger was down on his side, cursing under his breath and clutching at himself. He now knew the meaning of his stepfather's last words before the authorities hauled him off to jail.

"Fish, remember this, never trust or mug anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die!"

This was definitely a bad night. He blinked and saw something next to his face. He blinked again and drew his breath in sharply. Right next to his face was a fifty-dollar bill and not too far was a twenty. Forgetting his aches and pains, he quickly leapt to his feet to pick up the bills.

Fish went deeper into the alley, looking down at his feet and hoping to find more bills. To his surprise, something fluttered by his left foot. It was a Benjamin, one hundred smackaroos to use in any way. It was a good night after all. He reached for the bill, but it slipped away. It scurried further away into the Stygian blackness at the end of the alley. Benjamin Franklin was not going to get away that easily. Darting forward, he managed to snag the bill.

Fish shouted in triumph as he held the Benjamin high, but his cry soon turned into a quizzical 'Huh?' when he noticed the thin wire running from the bill and into the black depths of the alley. A growl came from within those depths.

Fish took out his revolver and waved it around menacingly. "I found it and it's all mine! If you want all the money, you'll have to discuss it with my friend here!" He pointed the revolver into the darkness.

Suddenly, a strong tug nearly ripped the Benjamin from Fish's left hand and the thin wire bit into the flesh between his thumb and index finger.

"Sonuvabitch!" yelped Fish as he opened fire.

A series of roars erupted from within the blackness, and something incredibly powerful yanked once more on the wire Fish held in his bleeding hand, pulling him forward and up into the clutches of something that merged with the shadows and weak glow of the city lights. The last thing Fish saw before his life went out like a candle were the five strange metallic masks that appeared out of nowhere, purring and trilling in demonic amusement.

It turned out to be a very bad night for Fish after all.


	2. What's Opera, Dude? Act 1

**Disclaimer:** I know the drill and you know the drill, I do not own anything, heck, I just did my taxes! Any resemblance to humans and extra-terrestrials, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No opera singers were harmed in the writing of this tale. 

**Author's Note:** This tale was written at the same time as the scifi tale 'Inimicus'. I have no idea what kind of strange schizophrenia my mind was undergoing at that time, though I blame it on my passion for opera.

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**What's Opera, Dude?**

**Act I**

_People in glass houses shouldn't get stoned_: Beck Messer ruminated on that thought as he watched his subject through the sniper scope. The penthouse windows were huge and they did not have the nice privacy curtains that decent people have when they did not want anybody spying on them. The doped up tenant was a downright sprawling savage, smoking his weed in full view and not caring about who was watching him from the surrounding buildings.

It was well past three in the morning by Messer's reckoning, and a good time to kill. Wiping the light sheen of sweat from his forehead, he looked through the scope again to check on his target. He had all the time in the world for this hit since one of the shadowy fronts of the client who hired him leased the room he was using. His employer instructed him to get in and out without anybody noticing, so they issued Messer a key and a custodial uniform in order to make him inconspicuous.

Fortunately, his building was practically empty by now. Either the employees were at home asleep or drowning their sorrows in whatever choice of brew they had on tap. The few security guards lounging at their video screens were oblivious to everything happening outside of the camera's frame, and they would not care about the lone custodian working in the building.

Earlier, Messer spent nearly two hours watching Dopey's little sex act with an all too acrobatic and rubbery prostitute. The whole thing looked like the love child of a freak show and a gymnastics competition on psychedelic 'shrooms. He did find it fascinating though, and he caught himself mesmerized by certain body configurations he thought were impossible between two human beings, but possible between certain invertebrate animals. That was probably the main reason it took him a while to assemble his rifle. There was something not quite right with the barrel and he kept pushing it and pulling it, trying to adjust it. He realized he was doing something quite naughty when he noticed his rhythmic action was matching the escapades occurring in the penthouse.

At the end of the coital Olympics, the prostitute left Dopey on the penthouse floor and walked out the door with her payment; she was probably heading to her next performance of Wanda the Wraparound Whore. Messer was craving for a cigarette, but he contained the urge. However, he saw the neighbors watching from the surrounding buildings light up their own cancer sticks as a salute to the free show.

**xXx**

There were other eyes watching though. A silent leap and the soft scuffling sound of clawed feet shifted the shallow drifts of roof gravel on another building adjacent to Dopey's penthouse. The owners of those feet were nearly invisible and they growled and clicked to each other in an unearthly language.

"This species just got uglier," said Ny'rath as he shook his head in disbelief. "I thought the female was killing the male in order to eat him."

"I never knew they were that flexible," answered Ghiz.

The two hunters had made their way closer shortly after the end of the bizarre mating ritual and now they were ready to pay the oblivious Dopey a visit.

The strange circumstances surrounding how the two yautja found Dopey were very strange indeed. It all began in Death Valley, upon a golf course, of all places, on a clear moonless night with the stars dominating the black velvet of space with their cold diamond brilliance.

Dopey had an appointment on the 11th Hole with a person of unwholesome connections. His job that night was to dispatch Mr. Unwholesome quickly. There were to be no witnesses, but as it always happens to people with extremely bad luck, there were witnesses to the whole golf course hit, except they were not human. A roadrunner nearby heard the nearly silent cough of a pistol with a noise suppressor and cocked its head warily, wondering if it was the coyote it escaped from earlier; the coyote in question had slunk off for a rendezvous with a lovely female, avoiding the noisy humans altogether. Another pair of witnesses was also in the vicinity, but in a spacecraft hovering silently high above Dopey and his victim.

The _gkinmara_ on their ship recorded it all. Ghiz and Ny'rath watched as Dopey dragged his victim to a nearby pit and buried it with the implements he had placed there earlier.

"This ooman talks to his prey before killing them," Ny'rath said. "It's probably part of his ritual or he's a very loquacious hunter and likes talking to his prey. Or maybe he's out of his mind."

Ghiz just shrugged as he looked over the scans of the surrounding area.

This was the third time in a row they had seen this particular ooman with his prey. The two hunters had been following Dopey, gauging to see if he would make a fitting trophy for either of them to add to their trophy collection. They were tempted to stalk and kill him countless of times, but they decided to wait instead for the right time and place. Ny'rath had Ghiz send down a small tracking device that immediately hitched a ride on the unsuspecting prey's vehicle. Unfortunately, the two yautjas did not account for the distances he traveled; soon after burying his victim, Dopey hopped into his car and drove off. The tracking device soon developed problems when Dopey, after taking a wrong turn, backed into a boulder. From then on, Ny'rath, piloting the ship, had to stay close to the speeding vehicle.

It was an eventful trip with their ship narrowly avoiding collisions with low-flying aircraft and nearly invisible electrical wires. At one point during the trip, Dopey stopped near a military airbase where he stayed for a while in a building of rental females. Ghiz got bored and could not resist playing with the nearby airbase, so he turned off the ship's cloaking mechanism; immediately, the military radar detected their ship and pilots scrambled into their fighter jets to intercept the unknown aircraft.

Ny'rath avoided near hits and heat-seeking missiles, dodging and buzzing the jets beautifully. During the merry chase, the two hunters lost their prey's signal. With a snarling curse, Ny'rath stopped playing and sped away at speeds that made it impossible for the missiles and jets to keep up with them. Ghiz managed to record the last place the tracking signal was received and by triangulation and extrapolation (these two words sound a bit violent, don't they?) he managed to find Dopey's destination.

A large city loomed before them and the pair chattered in excitement; they were headed towards a favorite hunting ground. The tracking device's signal soon became too erratic to use, so they landed their ship in a secure location far from ooman eyes and traveled on foot; sometimes they picked up the signal, but most of the time it was a guessing game. The two picked up their prey's trail again when they found his vehicle abandoned in a desolate part of the city. From there, they had to sift through a multitude of spoor to find Dopey and after one earth day, they managed to find his lair and bear witness to his outlandish intercourse.

**xXx**

"Okay, I guess it's time to reach out and touch someone. Sorry Dopey, I hardly knew you, but business is business and I guess I'm handing you your pink slip tonight," Messer said as he sighted the rifle once more. He made minute changes to his stance and gauged the wind speed one more time to compensate for crosswinds and heat updrafts. Now, he was ready for the final step. As he was about to pull back gently on the trigger, something caught his eye

"You gotta be kidding me!" whispered Messer. _Did they send a couple of hitmen to do his job? What the fawk?_ He had seen the figures emerge from the darkness of an adjacent building. He thought he was imagining things when he saw one of them disappear from view. The other quickly leapt to the penthouse roof and made his way to the large skylight.

**xXx**

Dopey jumped up at the noise on the roof. He was now scared out of his wits and stone cold sober, the pleasant fog of the drug having dissipated a while ago. He knew they were going to tie up his loose end. They could at least given him more time. He had been planning to leave town on the earliest flight so he could escape the assassin they would be sending after him, but he wanted one last good-bye and one last bang.

He grabbed a gun tucked beneath the large cushion of a nearby sofa, frantically looking up at the ceiling and wondering who was up there, but the tapping on the windows soon won Dopey's complete and unwavering attention. As he inched his way towards the windows, he held his gun out in front of him. The ominous darkness pushing against the windows was giving him the strangest sensation. A rattling gurgle came from somewhere outside; it sounded like somebody was choking on a rattlesnake.

Suddenly, the whole skylight fell in with a resounding crash behind Dopey. He whirled around in time to see the guy they sent to kill him. What he saw made him wonder if this whole thing was some kind of sick joke. His would-be killer did not look human and it was friggin' huge. Screaming and yelling, Dopey brought the revolver up and fired at the thing looming over him. Deflected by the mask the creature wore, the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away. With a menacing growl, the thing lunged forward and raised its oddly speckled arm. The twin blades that shot out from the large wristband gleamed with malevolence. Dopey could see his wide eyes reflected briefly on the shining blades before they plunged into his throat and ripped out his larynx, windpipe, assorted muscles, and important blood vessels.

As he felt his blood cascading down his shirtfront, Dopey's final thoughts flashed across his dying brain, _I wanted to die in my sleep like my grandfather... Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car._

Thus passes Dopey from this tale…


	3. What's Opera, Dude? Act 2

**Act II**

Messer saw the whole thing through his scope. The second hitman reappeared out of thin air and leapt down from the busted skylight to rejoin his partner. Both were now staring down at Dopey's carcass. They looked as if they were discussing something.

Messer studied the two hitmen carefully through his scope. The two were disguised in a peculiar fashion; they reminded Messer of The Man in the Iron Mask if the Marquis de Sade wrote it and had all the characters wear fishnets, loincloths, shoulder pads with something like a camera hooked to them, and masks. They were also freakishly tall and they appeared to fully embody the muscular bravado of Michelangelo's sculptures, yet there was something off-kilter about them that he could not grasp; these guys were monstrous and they liked their hits up close and personal. Messer had seen the gruesome job one of them performed on Dopey using twin blades that shot forth from some form of wrist gauntlet, the likes of which he had never seen before. _Who or what were these guys?_ He asked himself. The boss was really scraping the bottom of the barrel these days to find hired killers, but hiring weirdly tattooed monstrosities?

Nevertheless, the realization that he was just cheated out of an assignment hit him quite hard. Casting aside all professionalism, Beck Messer made the greatest mistake of his life.

"I'm going to teach you brawny bastards a lesson about stealing somebody's kill!" he growled as he sighted the rifle once more.

**xXx**

"You know, I was expecting him to put up more of a fight," Ny'rath said as he looked down at the ooman's carcass.

"You didn't give him enough time. You have to remember, their reflexes are not as quick as our own, especially when they cannot see us. You have to fight in slow motion with this species and in plain sight, but that's when you _want_ them to think they have an advantage; most of the time, they just freak out and do crazy stuff after they see us turn off our shiftsuits. The only time we have to be really careful is when they have their annoying projectile weapons, sharp objects that can pierce our skin, and other sneaky stuff they seem to come up with, either on purpose or accidentally," explained Ghiz.

"Yes, I see your point. He was already freaking out when I appeared and I reacted too quickly when he fired at my head with his small weapon," clicked Ny'rath as he leaned forward, preparing to wrench out the spine and skull. Ny'rath's trophy wall would gain a few more trophies tonight. "I'm surprised there weren't any oomans curious enough to investigate all the noise this soft meat was making."

"I think they're use to it," clattered Ghiz.

Ny'rath was about to reply when the sound of breaking glass and the soft impact of something hitting flesh caused him to look up.

At the same time, Ghiz leaped away from the window with an incredulous roar of pain and fury.

**xXx**

_Goddamnit!_ Messer, in his anger, failed to sight his rifle properly. The bullet had tumbled before it struck the glass and the impact caused it to drop further, completely missing the kill zone, but he knew he tagged the one who was standing near the window right in the butt. Somewhere in the distance, he heard an unearthly roar emanating from the direction of the penthouse. Did that noise come from those guys? Messer did not want to look again through the scope to see the consequences. He had to leave the building fast so he could get to the safe house before the weird guys could figure out what happened. Disassembling the rifle took only minutes and as he ran out of the room, he made sure he did not leave any evidence behind.

The car was waiting for Messer in the alley behind the building. The driver turned to him and asked, "Did you complete your mission, Beck?"

"What fucking mission? Your boss sent a couple of goons to do my work and you're asking me if I completed my mission? You should be asking those two weirdoes he sent to do my job instead," cried Messer.

"I was told that you were the only one on this assignment," said the driver as he wiped away the spittle on his face. "If you didn't complete the mission, then you'll have to explain yourself to Mr. Rufrano. Ya know Beck, he's never hired more than one person to do a job, but of course you already knew that." The driver could not help but smile at the discomfort that caused.

Messer could only gasp, "Aw crap, what kind of a royal fuck-up did I get myself in now?"

**xXx**

"_Pauk,_ what the _pauk_!" roared Ghiz as he crashed through the window and bellowed his rage. The vision mode in his mask had quickly tracked the projectile's trajectory to its origin in a tall building some blocks away. He switched to a different mode and scanned the building, looking for the heat signature of his assailant. He found the fleeing ooman and he roared once more, "I can see you, you dishonorable little _pauk-de_! You better run because when I get my claws on you, I'm…I'm…I'm going to nail your hindquarters to my trophy wall!"

"I think we have the attention of the other oomans now, Ghiz," said Ny'rath as he saw lights appearing in some of the surrounding buildings. The angry yelling and banging of the neighbors in the room below the penthouse added to the din of Ghiz's thunderous roaring.

"How the _pauk_ am I going to explain this to the next females I see?" Ghiz bellowed as he checked the wound on his left buttock. The projectile had broken the skin, but it did not burrow too far in the large muscle. It stung annoyingly, but the wound to Ghiz's pride was worse.

"Can you walk?" asked Ny'rath.

"Yeah, I can walk!"

"Can you run?"

"Of course I can run!"

"Then shut up and go after the ooman!" growled Ny'rath as he switched on his shiftsuit.

"_Ell-osde_ p_auk!_" barked Ghiz once more, as he turned his own suit on and jumped from the penthouse verandah.

Ny'rath picked up Dopey's skull and spinal column. There was just enough time to skin and hang the body. He was about to exit through the opening Ghiz made in the window, instead he checked to see if they had left any evidence of their visit in the penthouse. He made sure to clean up the little drops of blood left by Ghiz's wound. He could not help but clatter with mirth at Ghiz's hindquarter being shot by an ooman. The other hunters would be amused to hear about this incident.

**xXx**

Messer looked at his watch and waited for the boss to call. The driver ignored him and whistled a tuneless melody as he drove. The time was nearing five in the morning and he noticed the newspaper guys getting their bales ready for delivery. At about the same time, five police cars came roaring down the street, no doubt heading towards Dopey's penthouse. He could breathe easily now, at least for the time being. His target was dead anyways, even if he did not pull the trigger. He was just hoping to get away with his life tonight. Who cares about the pay? As long as he had his life, he was willing to forget about this assignment and go on to the next.

The ringing of the phone jarred Messer from his little reverie. He fumbled with the little cell phone before pressing the button to answer.

"Did you complete your mission, Beck?" asked Mr. Rufrano.

"Yes and no," replied Messer.

"Yes and no? What kind of an answer is that?"

"Well, the target's dead, but I didn't kill him." Messer looked up to see the driver smiling at him through the rearview mirror. The smile did not reach his eyes though.

"Beck, if you didn't kill the target, then who did?" Mr. Rufrano coldly asked.

"These two guys, I…uh…thought you sent, but now I know they weren't sent by you. I'm thinking they were from some other person or client, and I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then everything went to hell in a friggin' hand basket, and now I'm stuck here waiting for you to kill me, or let me live, or bury me in the desert, or drown me in a bucket of snot!"

"Shut up Beck! Hand the phone to Tell. I want a word with him," commanded Rufrano.

He complied and waited while Tell spoke to Mr. Rufrano. He just wanted this whole thing to end. The lightening of the eastern sky told him that morning was not too far away and perhaps the new day would be more congenial for him.

Tell suddenly turned around and said to Messer, "The boss wants to see you at about noon. He says he'll overlook your mistake this time. He won't pay you, but he's willing to give you another chance, but if you get into any more fuck-ups after this your ass is grass."

"Thank goodness for that!" yelped an obviously relieved Messer.

The rest of the drive to Messer's apartment was quiet and uneventful. Messer was quite happy about how everything turned out, and for that, he was truly grateful.

"Okay Beck, here we are. Remember, at noon today at Mr. Rufrano's place. I'll come by to pick you up at half past eleven," Tell said before he put the car back in gear and drove away.

Messer was finally safe at home. Now he was going to watch the creature feature movie he taped last night. What was the title? Oh, yes, now he remembered, it was "Attack of the Giant Leeches."


	4. Intermission

**Intermission**

Ny'rath leapt and ran across the rooftops, following Ghiz's trail. He was hoping to catch up to the ooman first just to thank him for the funniest thing he'd seen in ages and then hand him over to Ghiz for whatever creative butchery he had in mind. He almost ran into the yautja when he turned the corner of the large air conditioning unit atop a large building. Turning off his suit, he noticed there were two other hunters with Ghiz and all three were in a heated debate over something one of the unknown yautjas was holding.

"Oh there you are! What took you so long?" asked Ghiz as he beckoned Ny'rath closer. "Ny'rath, meet H'mah-dte and D'lak. We were all in the same Blooding cohort."

They all exchanged greetings and talked about each other's ongoing hunts. It seemed there had been a large and extensive gang war in the vicinity and the two hunters had had a good time. Ny'rath was about to tell the other hunters about Ghiz's little mishap when he felt his right foot being slowly crushed by Ghiz.

"Well, I'm sorry to interrupt our little discussion, but we're on a pursuit," hurriedly said Ny'rath as he rubbed his foot to get the feeling back.

"Wait, you have to see this thing they have with them. We were talking about it before you came and we need your opinion. Show him, D'lak," encouraged Ghiz.

"Ta-Daaaa!" D'lak lifted the object with a flourish.

"What the _pauk_ is that?" barked Ny'rath as he gazed at the metallic dark blue container covered in strange pictures and writing.

"It is food of some kind, made up of animal protein. It's some sort of strange meat, I admit, but the oomans we have seen eat it all the time. They ignore their normal meat and eat this instead," explained H'mah-dte. "I wonder what it tastes like."

"I told them that they shouldn't trust what the _pyode amedha_ make, especially their food. I wouldn't put any ooman-made foodstuff past my mandibles," adamantly stated Ghiz as he crossed his arms across his wide chest.

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try," said D'lak as he took off his mask and broke open the container.

"You're going to regret it," chanted Ghiz.

D'lak tore a piece off the pink rectangle of meat and placed the chunk in his mouth. The effect was immediate and drastic. All three yautja hopped back as D'lak spat the offending piece out of his mouth. He started swiping at his mouth, spitting and gagging all the while saying, "Great Cetanu! That was disgusting! Now I know why oomans do that thing with their lips! That thing they call ki'iss! They're getting the offending taste out of their mouths and passing it on to the next poor sucker!"

"You better not practice that _pauk-de_ ki'iss on me or I swear I'll have your intestines for harnesses," growled H'mah-dte.

"Ghiz, I think it's time to go!" said Ny'rath as he turned to descend to another building. "Remember your assailant?"

"You guys never listen! See you two around!" yelled Ghiz as he followed Ny'rath off the building.


	5. What's Opera, Dude? Act 3

**Act III**

_Those whom the gods wishes to destroy they first drive mad…_

"How's the hindquarter?" asked Ny'rath as he turned his suit back on and jogged.

"Not so bad. I managed to get the projectile out with the med-kit's forceps. I keep forgetting how much projectiles sting," replied Ghiz, who was still seething over the whole incident.

"Did you make a lot of noise?"

"Nah, I didn't bother with that horrid gel stuff, but I'm thinking of slathering some of that junk on the ooman when I catch him."

"Oh, so you found the male who did it?"

"Yeah, I had a hard time keeping up with his vehicle, but I was near enough to see where his lair was located, but I had to stop and take out the annoying projectile. That is when I met up with my old pals. Luckily, I was already done with my wound," Ghiz said as he stepped over a parapet and dropped down to a ledge. "The ooman lives in that structure over there." He pointed to the old apartment building. "I was thinking of bombarding the place with our plasma cannons, but I figure we should be more subtle."

As he leaned over the edge, Ny'rath asked, "How subtle?"

"Let's see, we could go over unseen, crash through his window, and jump him."

"You call that subtle?" Ny'rath grimaced at the image that conjured up.

"Well, what did you have in mind? Fling a smart disc at him with a note that says 'To whom it may concern,'" asked Ghiz.

"You sure are grumpy this morning," said Ny'rath.

"I am not grumpy, just bitter; very, very bitter."

"Shhh, what is that noise?" whispered Ny'rath. Near the ledge Ghiz was on, there was something flickering in the open window. The tinny sounds coming from it was enough to pique the interest of the two yautja. Slowly and stealthily, the two invisible forms of Ghiz and Ny'rath peeked through the window. They switched vision modes in order to 'watch' what was happening on the screen of the primitive version of a _gkinmara_. They watched the performance, not caring about the translation, but letting the action unfold before them. It was something they have only heard about, but have never seen in its entirety.

The darkened living room of the apartment revealed the bald scalp of a snoring ooman in his chair and in front of him, in its entire black and white glory, was the film, 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers.' The frantic actions of the oomans trying to maintain their humanity and the insidious alien pods that bore an all too similar resemblance to the eggs of another alien species made a lasting impression on the two yautja. The film ended with the sole survivor trying to warn his species of the catastrophe awaiting it, and the two hunters burst into laughter, waking the human from his deep slumber. Luckily, for him, the hunters at his windowsill quickly leapt onto the roof, unseen and unnoticed.

"Darn noisy pigeons!" spluttered the bald guy as he went back to sleep.

"Can we get back to what we are going to do with our latest prey? We have places to go and other types of prey to hunt you know. The Clan ship will not wait for us again; remember what happened on that gods-forsaken rock Üskände?" clicked Ny'rath.

"Yes, yes, I remember. How was I supposed to know that it was a penal colony for another alien race? Damn Zanti misfits. Let's see, what to do, what to do," said Ghiz as he rolled the projectile he removed from his wound around and around in the palm of his hand.

Being careful and patient hunters, the two settled down to study the behavioral patterns of their new quarry.

**xXx**

It would seem strange to the normal person to say that opera was a fun activity. Sometimes it would not be prudent to recommend your normal fun loving sports fanatic or crime boss to attend a glorious production of some opera with an unpronounceable name being staged at the nearest opera house.

Nevertheless, Messer knew Mr. Rufrano was a big opera fan. Thinking that perhaps a token of goodwill, such as free tickets to the city opera's very first outdoor staging of Wagner's 'Die Walkϋre,' would help mend the bad Dopey business, Messer took out his phone and dialed the number of a guy who owed him a favor. It was good to have 'friends' in low places. Glancing at the television set, he was surprised to see the end credits of an old science fiction film from the fifties. The tape he had on earlier was finished; he had dozed off earlier while watching 'Attack of the Giant Leeches' and had the weirdest dream. He blamed it all on what had happened earlier.

Hoping never to see those freaky hitmen again, Messer poked his head out of the open kitchen window and surveyed the surrounding area for any suspicious characters. The little kid in the apartment next door was also looking out of his window and was about to climb onto the fire escape that lined the side of the apartments. Upon seeing Messer, the kid stuck his tongue out at him and quickly ducked back in. Grumbling a few obscenities, Messer stared at the buildings across the street. There was a bit of heat haze on the roof, directly across, right above the overhanging ledge. It looked strange, but there was probably an ordinary cause to it.

Afterwards, he checked his phone messages and received a follow up reply to a call he made months ago about his missing ATM card. Strangely, he remembered the day he lost it, but could not remember where he lost it. Adding to that financial mishap was the missing money from his account. The bank informed him that he had taken out the large amount since there was a record of him using his ATM card and withdrawing money on that day; he was going through a lot of trouble and a lot of jobs just to make up the missing amount, like this latest hit for instance. A hit he was not going to be paid for.

Grumbling as he picked up the cereal box, he scratched at his head as he poured the cornflakes into the bowl. Out of nowhere, something flew through the open window and struck him right in the left temple.

"_Goddamnit_!" screamed Messer as he dropped the cereal box and grabbed his head with both hands. "Nnggh, nnggh, that friggin hurts, what the heck was that?" He hopped around in agony and then dropped to the floor, fumbling around like a landed fish. It was not from a pellet gun; that was bad, because whatever it had been, it was large and hard enough to hurt like a sonuvabitch. Clearing away the reddish haze from his eyes, Messer could see the slightly deformed bullet in front of his face. _I'll be damned! The darn thing looks like one of my rounds for my rifle!_ His mind gibbered, as he lay curled beneath his kitchen table; he thought he had picked up everything, including the spent shell casing. _Who could be pelting me with spent rounds?_

**xXx**

"How's that?" clattered Ghiz as he surveyed the open window across from his perch.

"Nice throw, but when I said to get rid of the projectile, I did not mean for you to give it back to the ooman," clicked Ny'rath as he shook his head. It had all started with the annoying clink of the metal round as Ghiz rolled it around in the palm of his hand, glancing off the knuckle-dusters that encircled his fingers. Exasperated, he had told Ghiz to get rid of it, so he did with a searing pitch into the open kitchen window of their intended prey. "I just hope you didn't hit him hard enough to kill him!"

"Honestly, I was aiming to miss him, but his head got in the way. Let us just call it intimidation and see how he reacts to it. I hope he considers it a challenge!" answered Ghiz.

**xXx**

"Hey mister, you all right in there?"

Messer still hid beneath his kitchen table, holding his head and wondering. He could feel a large goose egg slowly making its presence known on his head. His stomach was grumbling and now the kid next door was annoying him. He was going to get a splitting headache from all this. Slowly squirming his way out from beneath the table, he headed for the fridge, carefully keeping away from the windows. Upon reaching it, he opened the door and quickly took down whatever he could get his hands on and crawled once again to the safety of his kitchen table.

"Mister, I heard you scream. Are you okay?" cried the kid next door.

"I'm okay you little punk! Will you shut up and leave me alone!" yelled Messer as he looked down at what he brought back from the fridge. _This is not going to be my day_ he thought as he twisted the cap off the bottle of beer and opened the package of cheese, old cheese; cheese from the Paleozoic. If it had been blue cheese, the mold would have evolved into a sentient race by now. Nevertheless, breakfast was breakfast even if it was eaten beneath the kitchen table. Seating himself comfortably, Messer ate the decrepit cheese, picked up some of the scattered cereal from the opened box, and chased all of it down with beer. It was frankly, a veritable friggin breakfast of champions.

Perhaps the beer was not a good idea after all. His headache was beginning to grow and the serious bump on his temple was not helping. Crawling from beneath his shelter, Beck made it to the bathroom and quickly got in. Wincing at the sudden way he stood up, he steadied himself at the sink and slowly looked into the mirror. The bump that stood out from the left side of his head was hideous and his face had the frightened look of a field mouse when it realizes that it was not dreaming of flying, but caught in the talons of an owl.

"I'm going to die of fright in here! It's gotta be them! Heaven help me, I know it's them! They found me and now they're going to tan my hide! I gotta get out!" whimpered Messer as he rushed out of the bathroom and promptly fell to his hands and knees. He crawled to one of the windows and peeked over the sill. Seeing no one, he crawled to the coffee table and picked up his phone. "H-h-hi Mr. Rufrano, is it okay if I could come in early today? Yeah, I know there's a set time, but I thought…yeah, okay, he'll be here in ten. Thank you Mr. Rufrano!" Messer was so happy that he was going to leave his apartment that he forgot why he was crawling around in the first place. He stood up andwas about to go to his bedroom when something came whizzing through his living room window, and struck him right between the shoulder blades. Falling face down, he cursed his carelessness and promptly crawled away to the safety of his bedroom. As he was about to close his bedroom door, he managed to take one more look out of his living room window. He saw the kid from next door on the fire escape holding a slingshot in one hand and sticking his tongue out at him.

"Don't ever tell me to shut up, mister!" cried the kid as he loaded a large marble onto his slingshot.

Messer shut his bedroom door in time as the marble struck the doorframe.

When Tell arrived ten minutes later, he found a disheveled Messer waiting just inside of the apartment lobby. As soon as he stopped the car, Messer made a mad dash to the door and frantically pulled it open.

"Quick, hit the gas and get me the hell outta here!" he wailed as he looked around wildly at the people walking on the sidewalk.

"What the heck happened to you? Where'd you get that nasty bump?" cried Tell as he took one look at the mental wreck that was Beck Messer.

**xXx**

"Oh look, he's fleeing," observed Ghiz. "I wonder where he will lead us this time."

"It had better be some place good!" chimed Ny'rath.

The two hunters left their perch and leapt in breathtaking bounds from building ledge to building ledge, startling flocks of pigeons in their path and accidentally snapping the ropes and wires that made up the laundry lines strung between apartment buildings. They kept the vehicle that held their prey in sight, never taking their eyes and scanners off it.

Eventually, the vehicle stopped at an area of semi-used and abandoned warehouses. Large freight containers were stacked here and there among the shattered crates and rusting mechanical equipment. Tufts of grass, mounds of dirt, and piles of broken wooden planks dotted the desolate landscape of industrial carnage. In its heyday, it must have been a bustling place of burly workers and yelling supervisors, hustling here and there, loading and unloading the very products of materialistic need. The old warehouses that made up most of the hulking structures of the industrial landscape were mostly empty and silent; their broken windows framed by jagged lids, looking upon an empty concrete world of rusting iron and brittle old wood.

One, and only one, fenced compound was busy with very suspicious characters and they were looking over the parked vehicle, questioning and inspecting the driver and his passenger. Luckily, for the hunters, every one of the men guarding the building was armed.

"The males have hidden weapons. We should approach with caution if we are going to retrieve our prey," said Ghiz.

They watched their prey and the accompanying male leave the vehicle and head for the large building that loomed in the middle of the compound. Edging closer, they soon became aware of the system of cameras and tripwires lining the perimeter. Fortunately, their shiftsuits were on and they managed to slip through. The unsuspecting guards looked about them, seeing and hearing absolutely nothing.

**xXx**

"You got me tickets to see what!" yelled Mr. Rufrano.

Messer cringed at the sudden loud noise. He wished he had his revolver just to end it there, but he had to surrender it at the security station before entering the offices of Mr. Rufrano. Before the meeting, Tell had fixed him up with coffee laced with a healthy dollop of whiskey to calm him down and had given him a comb to arrange his messed up hair. Messer had winced every time he came near the large bump on his left temple. He had felt refreshed and quite mellow before his meeting with Mr. Rufrano, but he was once again a bundle of nerves, trembling at the angry words that came out of the boss's mouth, a strange counterpoint to the lovely Italian aria playing in the background.

"How could you get me tickets to 'The Valkyrie'? Do you know what it's all about?" cried Mr. Rufrano.

Shaking his head, Messer ventured to get a word in, "But 'Die Walküre'…"

"No buts and don't call it by its German name. You sound like you're swallowing your tongue every time you say it! This so-called 'music drama' has all the hallmarks of a depraved sideshow. First, you have incest between a brother and sister, adultery, murder, and gratuitous violence. Did I mention incest? Moreover, all of that happens in the first two acts! It gets worse as the whole thing progresses! If I was to see this feast of depravity, my mother would give me a guilt trip and she's the travel agent for guilt trips!" explained Rufrano.

Messer would have laughed if he could, since he realized the aria in the background was from the opera 'Turandot', an opera of a bloodthirsty princess who got her kicks from decapitating the amorous suitors that failed to answer her three not-so-easy riddles. Yet the incest thing was something he did not know about 'The Valkyrie': oops.

"You know what you could do with these tickets? Tear 'em up and flush 'em down the toilet. Tell, come in here and help me with this!" said Mr. Rufrano as he suddenly stood up from behind his desk.

"You called, boss?" asked Tell when he entered the room.

"I want you to take Beck aside and explain to him why I'm giving him a second chance. Afterwards, beat him up for failing on the last job and then give him his next job. Sheesh, some people are only alive because it's illegal to kill."

"I've been looking forward to this ever since I picked up your sorry ass!" snickered Tell as they both walked out of the office.

As they passed the security station, Messer happened to look at the half dozen or so security monitors. He noticed something on one screen that did not look quite right.

"Hey, why are we stopping? You have an appointment with my fist and…" the last part of that sentence went unfinished as Tell saw Messer raise a shaky hand to one screen. The security operator staffing the station put down the magazine he was reading and stared at the screen, frozen with indecision.

At first, everything looked fine on the television monitor, except for the legs of somebody lying dreadfully still in the dark pools of something that looked like shiny motor oil or chocolate syrup in black and white. The legs were sticking out from one corner of the screen and a shower of sparks seem to cascade on and off as a flailing figure flew from one part of the screen and crashed silently among the wooden packing crates that lined one side of the room. Now there was something invisible shoving the heavy crates around as if they were nothing but playing blocks, inexorably making its way to the figure that had crashed earlier, and who still clung to his weapon. As he shakily got to his feet, he waved the gun around, aiming here and there. The invisible thing that moved the crates around soon made it to the weaving figure and with an invisible swipe, the head of the poor crash victim said good-bye to its bodily anchor. A few of the surviving guards could be seen firing their weapons in bursts at something off screen and one or two of those same guards were being picked off by something that flashed incandescently bright on the screen, exploding against their bodies like liquid lightning.

"What the heck is going on?" said a voice behind Tell, the security operator, and Messer. All three turned to see Mr. Rufrano looking at the screen. "Do we have an audio feed? I want to hear what's going on! Get Lammermoor on the radio and ask him what the hell is going on down there!"

"Um, I think that was Lammermoor that just said good-bye to his head, sir," quietly stated the security operator.

The blaring klaxon of the fire alarm soon reverberated throughout the warehouse and a sudden deluge of water came down as the sprinklers tried to quench the sudden flames that licked up from the burning wooden crates and human debris.

**xXx**

The strange and violent action captured on the security cameras above and witnessed by four bewildered men had started with the most innocuous sound.

The two hunters would have made it in unnoticed if Ny'rath had not stepped on a twig just as they were sneaking right behind one of the guards. Unfortunately, the guard had a very itchy trigger finger and when he saw the shimmering figures of light that stood near him, he managed to release a few bursts from his semi-automatic before he felt rather than saw the invisible blades that entered his chest and impaled his heart and one of his lungs. Then all hell broke loose as the remaining guards headed their way.

"Look around us, Ny'rath. There are no trees in sight and you managed to step on the only twig in the area!" commented Ghiz.

"I did that on purpose," said Ny'rath.

The oomans in the warehouse were putting up a fierce fight. Ghiz was busy with one male who tried blocking his path to the upper levels of the structure. Armed with an axe and a gun, he tried to use the axe on Ghiz who blocked it easily and tore it away from the ooman's grasp. Ghiz then struck the male a powerful blow, watching him skid down the aisle and trip up a couple of armed males as they tried to reach him. Seriously hampered by the netting that tightened and cut through their flesh, a pair of struggling and shrieking guards tried occupying Ny'rath's time.

Mr. Rufrano's security chief, Len Lammermoor, showed up then with a phalanx of henchmen. Sadly, most of them ended up easy pickings for Ghiz, who had the advantage of being in the upper levels and was using his plasma cannon for a bit of target practice. Lammermoor managed to make it to safety. He was no less surprised by the light bending figure that appeared immediately in front of him as he tried to make contact with Rufrano. Yanked from his hiding spot and thrown across the room, Lammermoor uttered one short yelp before crashing among the hard, unyielding wooden crates. Lammermoor managed to survive his flight and still hold on to his weapon, but he lost his head completely, courtesy of Ny'rath's _ki'cti-pa_. The screams and yells soon blended with the small explosions caused by the ammunition bursting in the weapons heated up by the surrounding fires caused by the arcing sparks from torn wiring.

Before the fires activated the sprinklers, Ny'rath made it up to the rafters where Ghiz watched and waited.

"I know where our particular prey is located and he's accompanied by three others. Shall we go and get him?" asked Ghiz.

"Yeah, this hunt has gone on long enough. We can come back to gather the trophies when we are all done. Hey, let's turn off our shiftsuits to make it sort of even," added Ny'rath.

**xXx**

One, then two cameras went offline and the gaping screens showed nothing but snow. Mr. Rufrano looked at Tell, Tell looked at Messer, and Messer looked at the security operator, who then looked at Mr. Rufrano. The radio was completely silent and the only sounds from downstairs were the dripping and hissing of water putting out the still guttering flames.

"Do you have something to tell us, Beck?" asked Mr. Rufrano.

Messer had to look innocent. He had the sneaking suspicion that the culprits behind this attack were the weird pair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Messer, why were you so scared this morning? You looked as if you saw a ghost. Did you have somebody follow us?" queried Tell.

"Nope, nothing, I swear!" sputtered Messer.

"Uh, guys, you have to take a look at these weirdoes," said the security guy as the cameras lining the passage that led to Rufrano's offices and the security station captured the image of two large figures cautiously making their way from doorway to doorway. "I don't know about you guys, but I think these hulks are high up on something weird or they could be something not, uh, quite human!"

"It's them! It's them! They're here to get me!" screamed Messer as he leapt forward and grabbed his revolver from the stunned security guy. He ran to the fire escape doors and down the stairs, leaving behind the puzzled trio of Tell, Rufrano, and the security operator.

Right after Messer left the building, a loud roar and a violent bashing knock on the door announced the presence of the infiltrators. The security operator immediately left his post and went the way of Messer, quickly rushing out through the fire escape doors and outside. Fortunately, for him, he was unarmed.

"Well, that seems to have answered our questions. I guess Beck had some uninvited guests coming over and he didn't have the balls to tell us," stated Tell as he picked up a weapon.

The door to the offices exploded in a maelstrom of large plywood splinters and swirling clots of sawdust. The two figures that came in through the shattered doorway were gigantic and strode purposefully towards Rufrano and Tell.

Mr. Rufrano yelled as he rushed at the advancing figures with a gun in each hand. "I'm not going down without a fight! You guys are mine!"

His suicidal attack was followed by Tell who squeezed off a burst of gunfire as he followed Rufrano.

The outcome was swift and painless. The two strange 'hitmen' that had infiltrated and destroyed most of Rufrano's property had sidestepped the coming attack. An explosive burst of light from one of the 'hitmen' flung Mr. Rufrano back and as he fell, he kept firing his guns wildly. The boss finally fell silent when a disc flung by one of the creatures cleanly lopped off Rufrano's head.

As for Tell, he realized all too late that they were up against the strangest hitmen ever. _We should have hired these guys for Dopey's hit instead of Messer_ thought Tell as he felt his gun slipping from numb fingers. He looked down and noticed he had no more fingers. Actually, he had no more hands. A sudden swipe from the wicked blades that emerged from the large wristband of one of the tall hitmen had taken away two of his appendages, and he did not even notice. Tell still had the bewildered look on his face as a spear pierced him from behind, skewering his heart and forcing it out in a spray of blood, splayed ribs, and torn muscle. The soon to be late and unlamented Tell stared at the sight of his still beating heart. As it spasmed in its death throes, Tell's brain repeatedly flashed the incongruous image of an apple impaled by an arrow.


	6. What's Opera, Dude? Act 4

**Disclaimer:** Predator is owned by Twentieth Century Fox, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I can't have a bit o' fun with the characters. Any resemblance to oomans and yautja, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

* * *

**Act IV**

_Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most._

If one were to have met Beck Messer on the last day of his life, one would have called the local mental institution. They, in turn, would have sent a white van with a padded interior and driven by one muscle-bound nurse; his accomplices would be toting a white canvas jacket with extra-long sleeves that would wrap all the way around with strong leather restraints. The jacket's metal buckles would be gleaming while sedative-filled syringes twinkled in the afternoon light. Shiny hypodermic needles, all snug and quiet in their crisp plastic packets, would be plucked out, inserted into syringes, and plunged into the pulsing bloodstream of any future patient.

It would take just one call, a single telephone call, to halt a further descent into madness, but no one was there to obstruct the mad plight of Beck Messer or call the local insanity lounge. It was unfortunate, yet it was all for the best. Really.

**xXx**

"One for Ny'rath and one for me, two for Ny'rath and three for me…" Ghiz's droning count went on and on as he piled the skulls and spines in separate heaps. Ny'rath was busy stringing up the bodies from the rafters, carefully checking each for any wayward signs of yautja presence; it would not be good to have curious oomans checking up on certain anomalies they might find during an investigation.

It was a successful hunt. The two were not expecting such a prime hunting ground. The location was perfect; far enough from the metropolitan area to remain isolated, and out of earshot of nosy neighbors. It was also a very secluded place, hardly used, and shunned by the basic, everyday ooman constantly seen in the sprawling urban areas. They had their prey to thank for their success. Unfortunately, he was still at large.

"Finished up there?" asked Ghiz.

"Almost, I have to string one more up, and then we can check out the latest trail of our wayward prey," said Ny'rath. "Make sure you remember which pile belongs to you and which pile is mine—I hope you're not cheating on the count."

"Hey, no worries, the count is fair," said Ghiz as he rearranged the piles one more time, tallying again the number of skulls in Ny'rath's heap after putting in the correct number of skulls and vertebral columns.

After they were done with their grisly work, the two hunters left the smoldering warehouse. Ghiz hid the trophies in one of the abandoned structures as they made their way back to the busy metropolitan center. They followed the faint trail of their elusive prey.

"This male has more lives than the feline denizens of Ulthar put together!" said Ny'rath. "I'm surprised he's still alive and functioning. He's making this little hunt a bit tough for us."

"Well, isn't that what hunting _pyode amedha_ is all about? They're clever in the most unexpected ways; they make a dull hunt exciting, especially the ones trained specifically to kill other oomans. Take, for instance, the stories of hunters that met their demise at the hands of oomans." Ghiz scanned the area before him and found traces of their prey's heat signature.

"You don't believe in those myths of the bloodthirsty ooman, do you?" Ny'rath adjusted his mask and ran his talons over the newly acquired gouges made by erratic bullets.

"Myths always have a grain of truth in them; why do you think the older hunters told those horrible stories on the days leading to our Blooding hunt?"

"I thought they were to keep us awake at night, keeping us off-balance so we wouldn't be able to concentrate on the next day's training," said Ny'rath as he waited for one of Ghiz's inane explanation.

"No, the stories were meant as little bits of wisdom; albeit gory and horrible bits of wisdom. Even the little tales the very young tell each other during play-hunting offers gruesome nibbles of wisdom and lessons learned the hard way," explained Ghiz.

"You must enjoy making the young unblooded hunters uncomfortable with your gore-encrusted nuggets of wisdom," said Ny'rath as he shook his head.

"I must admit I do," said Ghiz.

They traveled through the growing cacophony of traffic snarls and ooman chatter. Their light bending figures vaulted over the spaces interrupting the buildings they were using to navigate the city blocks, and the disturbing impacts they made on each roof caused some concern for those who noticed. As for the rest, they remained oblivious: little puffs of plaster dust fell on heaving bodies in the act of sexual play, while a smattering of plaster flakes seasoned someone's mashed potatoes as it sat on the stove.

The city spoke to the predators with its scents, permeating the smoggy afternoon with the caustic fragrance of rancid food and half a day's body sweat wafting from each open window. Aromatic cuisines of countless cultures soaked the air, luring the empty stomachs of pedestrians with their gastronomic siren song. Life still went on, regardless of the aliens that traveled through the urban environment.

**xXx**

The Fates were never kind to Messer. As they wove the thread that outlined his life, they giggled while they added two more threads to the tattered tapestry of poor Messer's life. The two threads glowed with the phosphorescent hue of alien life, edging closer to his thread; soon they would all join.

Messer was not thinking. In fact, he was running on mental fumes. He ran and ran, casting a look backwards just in case. Keeping one hand in his coat pocket and reassured by the touch of the revolver, he careened through the streets of the city. His destination was a nebulous outline in his frazzled mind. He stumbled into pedestrians, narrowly missed elderly citizens on their aluminum walkers, and jostled angry teenagers, but he never stopped to reply to the furious curses or acknowledge the aluminum walkers flung in his wake. Messer's hours were numbered, and deep in his roiling gut, he knew: fear began to overtake his sanity.

**xXx**

The urban sprawl was alive, electrified by the people that ate, drank, shat, and died within it. Most of the time, humans were undaunted by the soulless steel and glass edifices that interrupted the skyline and formed the walls of their concrete and asphalt maze, and as they breathed in the smog, they prayed for the day to end, day's end, the time when the lucky majority could go home. Even rats in a maze returned to their cages after each experiment.

Strangely, some chose to stay in the city that night for the sake of entertainment. Sports enthusiasts cheered their favorite teams and opera-goers were treated to a fantastic opera of defiant warrior maidens, incest, magic swords, and tragic gods; did I mention incest?

The opera company was ecstatic; their production of 'The Valkyrie' was unprecedented. The first two acts unfolded without a hitch or a hiccup, but luck could only carry this production so far. Perhaps the loss of luck began with a pair of surfers moonlighting as security guards; in the interval between acts two and three, the two surf buds left for their break, leaving the dressing rooms unguarded for a brief time.

Outside, Beck Messer scampered around, looking for a way in through the barrier set up to discourage the non-paying opera-goers from getting a free show; maybe he could escape this nightmare if he hid in a place filled with people. Unfortunately, all of the doors were locked. Messer would have to find another hiding place. Shoving his hand into his pants pocket, he found the opera tickets he was going to give to the late Mr. Rufrano. Messer tried to stifle a cry of relief as he went to the box office to present his ticket. Messer was safe for the moment, but there was still that nagging little voice that told him to head for the dressing rooms and as far away from the brooding storm of trouble that followed at his heels.

What occurred during that lovely evening in that energetic city of dreams rarely fulfilled and usually broken, would go down in the annals of tabloid history as the weirdest opera night since the Marx Brothers' riotous version of Verdi's 'Il Trovatore.' The unfortunate few who witnessed the event--and told their story to anybody who would listen and pay the right amount--went into involuntary hiding, their whereabouts unknown.

The majority who were there denied what they saw, and the experts agreed with them. It's also equally important to point out that the house lights, or any form of adequate illumination, were not fully lit once the incident began. So, in essence, the whole incredible event occurred in a sort of murky chaos; the only time everything was clearly seen, or adequately illuminated, was right before the infamous 'involuntary audience participation feature.' Nevertheless, everything was swept under the convenient rug of mass hysteria, including the reviews, both good and bad, of the operatic production.

It was too bad the evening news did not record the whole mess. We would have gotten a kick out of it.

**xXx**

"Go'ort!"

"Ny'rath! I didn't know you'd be here tonight. Ghiz still tagging along with you?" said Go'ort.

"Unfortunately, yes, hanging around and waiting for my scraps. I can't get rid of him that easily," Ny'rath said.

"I heard that!" said Ghiz as he leapt down from a ledge. "Ny'rath can't get it through his thick skull that he's the one waiting for my scraps. He's also jealous of my success."

"What sort of success is he jealous about?" asked Go'ort

"Ny'rath is jealous because I attract most of the females."

"Yes, that's true, you do attract females, but they're usually the angry ones, brandishing spears and _ki'cti-pa_, roaring for your blood, and all too willing to ram their fists into your face." Ny'rath rolled his eyes and whispered to Go'ort, "I'll tell you all about it later. It's a sad story, but you'll laugh your mandibles off."

All three hunters stood in the shadows, their figures dim and nearly invisible to the inattentive human. Earlier, Go'ort had seen the shadowy figure of the male the other hunters were tracking, wondering what to make of him. Go'ort made up his mind to follow closely just to see what the ooman was doing. The curious hunter arrived at the opera, but the screeching din emanating from the open-air stage assailed his ears like a rampaging wave of hard meat: it was unfortunate his mask did not have an auditory filter. Thinking it was audibly safer to wait outside at a safe distance, Go'ort waited for the cacophony to end; until Ghiz's and Ny'rath's arrival surprised him.

"The male was acting funny, and he looked as if he saw something he shouldn't have seen, so I followed him over to this loud arena. I would have bagged him, but a little voice kept telling me to wait, and sure enough you two show up," chattered Go'ort.

"We got here just in time. I waited all day to get this soft meat. When I'm through with him, there'll be nothing left for this planet's carrion worms to chew on," said Ghiz.

"Well, I'll leave the hunting to you both. By the way, Kla'a'tu says hi," said Go'ort as he climbed up a nearby building and bounded away.

**xXx**

Messer was enjoying his good luck. The dressing rooms were the perfect place to hide, and he found one that was just right, except the singer occupying it. He managed to shove the shrill and hysterical soprano into the closet, but not before acquiring her costume.

He tried on the suit of mail and breastplate, laughing grimly at his predicament. Messer nearly burst into tears when he saw himself in the full-length mirror, and after he placed the winged helmet on his head and lifted up the spear, he began to weep in earnest. It was all a part of the Valkyrie's costume, and it would have to do for what he was planning that night; that is, to hide like a scared little rabbit in the main body of the Valkyrie chorus and lip sync. Thank goodness he was roughly the same size as the soprano, minus the boobies: the costume fit him perfectly. Luckily, the dim backstage lighting allowed the shadows to completely hide the new actor playing Brunnhilde. A poor stage assistant never noticed the switch.

As he stepped out of the dressing room, Messer found himself accosted by the stage assistant who frantically pulled him towards the stage, telling him to wait for the cue to enter with Sieglinde. Sieglinde? Then that would make Messer the main Valkyrie, Brunnhilde, the titular hero of the entire darn piece. It was just his luck to make a major fool of himself in public, in grand operatic style. He knew opera, but he didn't know how to sing it.

From backstage, Messer could hear the aggressive thrumming of the woodwinds and slashing violins as they began 'The Ride of the Valkyries,' the infamous prelude to act three of the opera. Soon, the quick bursts of the horns would interrupt the trilling with their signature galloping rhythm, lending an aura of storm wracked peaks, screaming wild horses carrying their riders, the chaos of countless battlefields, and the sonorous din of thunderous night. A few movie buffs in the audience would whisper amongst themselves about a certain movie, making snide comments about attack helicopters, mornings with napalm, and how some guy named Charlie didn't surf.

The two surfer guards were still on their break, watching the last act of the opera unfold from the back, where all the shadows gathered and pooled beneath the barrier. The guards did not notice the two new audience members that climbed over the fence; the loud music obscured what little sound the hunters made as they stepped lightly, heading for backstage. And no, they didn't have backstage passes. They didn't need them.

**xXx**

When the first Valkyrie began her keening call, Ghiz and Ny'rath were getting the auditory equivalent of a slasher flick. Fortunately, they managed to tune out the more strident and piercing sounds emanating from the stage.

"Do they ever shut up? I know they talk a lot, but do they have to tell the whole universe all about their singing prowess?" grunted Ghiz as he poked around backstage.

"What was that? I didn't hear you," said Ny'rath as he emerged from an empty dressing room.

"I think I see our little prey over there. He's in armor and he's carrying a spear!" clicked Ghiz.

An ominous, rapid-fire clicking was heard above the orchestral maelstrom; Messer had heard that sound before, but he couldn't place it. Messer felt the world crumble beneath him as he turned to see his worst nightmare come true, and to top it all off, the stagehands paid no heed to the hulking figures slowly emerging from the shadows. Beck Messer forgot everything and leapt onstage, ignoring the hysterical assistant who tried to call him back into the wings.

Messer, as Brunnhilde, entered before his cue, and the other Valkyries on stage nearly faltered in their chorus, but the conductor urged them on, cajoling and threatening them to sing as if their very lives depended on it. The singer playing Sieglinde stormed off in a fit of anger, calling Brunnhilde a '#!$! cow' and shouting expletives that made the stagehands blush. Still, the hunters pursued their prey, and from the chaos of backstage, they stepped onto the dramatically lit stage of the final act of the opera. The bass-baritone playing the god Wotan turned around just in time to see the gigantic figures of Ghiz and Ny'rath appear behind him. He smiled a vacuous smile, promptly dropped his spear, and took off for parts unknown.

Ghiz and Ny'rath now found themselves on the opera stage with nine Valkyries singing and one frightened prey huddling in their midst. Both hunters looked at each other, and then they peered at the murmuring crowd of humans watching them from the darkened arena.

"Hey, I thought the giants only made their appearance in the first opera and not in the second," said one stagehand.

"I guess the director's making another one of his aesthetically stupid statements. You know? The artsy-fartsy kind where we all go 'Huh?' and the only ones who get it are his artsy-fartsy friends," replied another.

"What the heck are they wearing?" cried the costume designer.

The stage director began pulling out clumps of his own hair in despair.

The conductor looked up at the sudden hush of the singers' voices and the faltering performance of his orchestra. Being the consummate professional, he ignored the strange duo that had appeared, attracted the attention of his orchestra by tapping his baton on the music stand of the concertmaster, and yelled at the singers onstage to continue: "I didn't tell you harpies to stop singing!"

Ghiz bellowed a roar of challenge to the now-singing Valkyries, brandishing his spear in an awesome display of fury while he slowly advanced on the cowering group of singers.

"Gnarly, dude! The giants got spears and magic helmets!" said one of the surfers/security guards.

"Spears and magic helmets, you say? Where's the wabbit?"

"Kill the ooman!" trumpeted Ny'rath as he threw his smart disc at the Valkyries.

Luckily for the singers, the lethal disc clipped the tips off their winged helmets and the blades on their spearheads. The Valkyries took one horrified look at each other and then ran screaming into the wings. They left the poor conductor in a near apoplectic fit and Messer trying to dodge Ghiz, who had lunged towards his prey as soon as the singers abandoned the stage.

Breaking his baton in frustration, the conductor screamed over the frantically playing orchestra, "Come back here and sing! The show isn't done yet! Sing it, you fools!"

One soprano had the temerity to talk back as she fled, "Sing it yourself, asshole!"

Messer scuttled over to the orchestra pit, then leapt into the brass section, sending the hapless trombone section tumbling from their chairs. Ghiz followed by leaping into the percussion section and subsequently diving feet first into the percussionists' prized timpani. The drum gave way beneath his weight, and a few of the audience members and horrified instrumentalists were briefly rewarded with the sight of a large, snarling humanoid caught in the bowl of a large copper drum. With a scathing yowl, Ghiz leapt out of the drum and thrashed his way through the orchestra.

Violins and violas were tossed in the air as Ny'rath joined the fracas. The audience began to scramble from their seats, screaming hysterically and pointing at the giants that smashed their way through the orchestra pit. Messer shoved aside any audience member that got in his way. At times, he used them as obstacles, tossing them or pushing them towards his pursuers, buying time for his escape from Ghiz and Ny'rath.

"Hey, it's audience participation time!" yelled the security guards. They weren't lifting a finger to help with crowd control.

**xXx**

"They're all in a frenzy to get out of our way!" yelled Ghiz as he dodged a screaming female.

"There's our little prey over there; he's still holding a spear!" cried Ny'rath. The maddened throng of humans was thinning as most of the opera-goers made it to the exits. The two hunters had seen Messer duck behind a large wooden partition that covered one of the many emergency exits, but as they slammed their way through the flimsy barricade, they found themselves in a murky corridor, and a shadowy figure huddled at the end. Sounds of exasperation and gasps emanated from the still form.

"Don't get too close," advised Ny'rath as he saw the form jump up suddenly.

"What do you want from me? What! Are you angry because I shot you in the ass? Do you want a bandage for your little boo-boo?" yelled Messer as he shook with anger and fear, but mostly with fear tinged with encroaching insanity.

"Was that meant to be a roar of defiance?" asked Ghiz.

Scampering noises and a whistling in the air heralded the arrival of a poorly thrown spear which Ghiz caught easily. He broke the spear in two, snorting at its poor construction and lack of balance. "Is that all you have?" roared Ghiz. Just then a shot rang out, and a bullet zipped by, narrowly missing one of Ghiz's dreadlocks. "That does it!" snarled the hunter as he pounced.

Messer didn't have time to fire another round as the dark bulk of the creature erupted from the darkness and brought him down with a crushing blow. He saw stars for a moment, and then the black gulfs of encroaching darkness swallowed him up.

**xXx**

Unconsciousness was unmercifully long, and pain pierced the fog that engulfed Messer's brain. The haze before his eyes cleared momentarily to reveal the Hell he was in; the room he occupied was covered with skulls of all shapes and sizes, and their dark, empty sockets all stared at him, grinning with the secret, morbid joke shared by the dead. Still adjusting to the dim light of the room, he peered across the room and came face to face with the twin harbingers of his doom. The creatures were not wearing their masks, and the sight of their faces was enough to make Messer mewl wordlessly. But the sight that really pushed Messer over the edge was the one seen through the small porthole behind the creatures; the earth looked very small from his standpoint, and it was dwindling rapidly.

"I thought this hunt would never end. I'm glad we're off that dirtball," sighed Ny'rath as he slouched lazily against the wall. "Well, what's next?"

Chuckling, Ghiz looked up with a mischievous glimmer in his yellow eyes, eyes as yellow as the mustard in Hell's pantry. "I guess it's time for some creative butchery. Pass me that gel."

_That's opera, folks!_

**The End**


End file.
